


Sollux Captor:  Sex God

by doctorsaxon



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-16
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-16 10:15:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/538386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorsaxon/pseuds/doctorsaxon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Sollux Captor, and you are fucking tired of little children barfing in the aisles.</p>
<p>And, perhaps, you're a porn star now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Woo so against my better judgement I decided to start ANOTHER long fic. Go me and my wise life choices.

Your name is Sollux Captor, and you are fucking tired of little children barfing in the aisles.

 

Okay, maybe some exposition.

 

You’re currently stuck in your stupid as shit job as a janitor at Slappy Jack’s Pizza Parlour, the Chuck E Cheese for poor people.  Well, you say poor, which is probably a nicer way of saying white trash trailer park.  Your oh so glorious place of employment is the only one like it in town, which is great for business.  Unfortunately, that town is a rainy little shitstain on the map in a state which is a slightly larger shitstain – North Carolina.  And, as your little town only had three major roads and they all ended in trailerparks or rural dwellings and double wides, you found yourself hosting a particular type.

 

“Sollux, clean up in the Dizzy Tubes.”

 

“What the fuck, again?”

 

“Don’t curse while you’re on the clock.  Yes, again, in section three.”

 

You’re too smart for this.

 

When you were a kid you had a mind to rival college professors.  You were rumored for greatness, for NASA, to be the next Bill Gates.  But instead you’re here, cleaning up a puddle of vaguely pizza sauce colored vomit, back aching from your stooped position, in a plastic tube some twenty-five feet off the ground.  Smell that, Sollux?  That’s the smell of living up to your expectations.

 

And vomit.  Don’t forget the vomit.

 

Shoveling something that looks like a barely chewed pizza crust into a bucket with a wretch, you wonder how you ever could.  You had only been working there for a few months, but it was already the height of too much.  You lost track of the number of assaults done by small children, the number of times you walked into the restroom only to quickly realize why your coworkers were peeing outside, the number of parents who expected you to know when their pizza was going to be ready or why aren’t you in costume the kids are scared of you.  Or thinking you were in a costume.  Fucking hell when would the day be over so you could go home?  Your roommate was annoying and an asshole but at least he was more tolerable than Screaming Blonde Brat Who Doesn’t Have Enough Tickets Number Ten.  You glance at your watch and nearly sob with relief.  Only twenty more minutes and you could clock out, you could clock out and leave and pretend you didn’t need to come in tomorrow.

 

Vomit cleaned, you’re left with a decision.  Crawl all the way back to the ladder leading up into the tubes and awkwardly descend backwards down the crooked stairs, or move about ten feet more and…  slide down the slide.  The slide was probably the only part of the tubes that was kept spotless, from a combination of health concerns and children’s asses polishing the plastic shiny.  And even though it was undignified, and fucking ridiculous, it was a much better option.  The slide it was.

 

You struggled and pulled yourself forward and into the slide, obnoxiously bright green and enclosed, a tube of spiraling death leading you back into the screaming, harsh reality of the workforce.  It was symbolic, really.  Falling down a dark hole and wading through grasping sticky hands and blank cow-like expressions until you could finally punch out and escape.

 

Whee.

 

 

 

That was the worst twenty minutes of your short, pitiful existence.

 

Over the course of the twenty minutes since you got out of the tubes, you had your foot stepped on five times, one mother verbally assaulted you for touching her daughter inappropriately – which, by the way, was bullshit.  The little shit was falling off of the outside of the dizzy tubes and you had the sheer gall to catch her rather than let her die – you got two calls from your roommate that you had to let go to voicemail, stepped in what you hope was apple juice, and had to deal with countless innocent faces looking up at you and asking ‘what’s up with your eyes’?

 

By the time you finally wandered out of Slappy Jack’s Torture Parlour, you felt as lifeless as the animatronic band belting out parodies of horrible pop songs autotuned and seemingly run through a ‘no taste’ filter.  You run your fingers through your hair, sighing and breathing in the chilly autumn air with more than a little relief.  It was fresh, and clean, and not stifling hot and filled with the sounds of screams and the scent of fear.  Probably your fear, there.  You decided to celebrate your freedom the best way you knew how.  Your second cigarette of the day, your favorite one.  And maybe you should check your messages, too, since your roommate had to call you twice in twenty minutes.

 

You trapped the tube of sweet, sweet nicotine between your lips and flicked your lighter to life.  It wavered slightly in the breeze, and after a split second of careful observation you lifted it to the end of your cigarette and drew in that first drag.  That taken care of, and the soothing rush of the best legal drug rushing through your veins, you move on to your phone.  You flip it open absently, scrolling to get to your voicemail and…  good, he only left one.  You delete it.  Cool, nothing els—

 

Oh god dammit he texted you.

 

_come home soon big announcement_

Big announcement?  This proved to be good.  You took your time to smoke, not wanting to rush perfection at four dollars a pack, before grinding the filtered butt beneath your well-worn trainer and heading for home.

 

Your home wasn’t exactly far, and you liked the walk to and from anyway.  If you ever couldn’t walk for whatever reason, you could usually be dropped off and/or picked up as needed.  Your roommate needed the care more anyway, as his job tended to involve travel out of town.  You do say ‘tended’, as he had multiple, ah, offices.  One of them was his bedroom, but you liked not to think of that.  You liked not to think of a lot of things involving your roommate’s job, like the fact that any random gay DVD may have his face in it.

 

And, perhaps more urgently, his cock.

 

Not that you’d get a gay DVD for any reason.  You were…  maybe?  bi, just maybe.  But you didn’t really go for porn, you never saw the appeal of two or more sweaty people rubbing up against each other until one or more sweaty people had a biologically necessary release of seminal fluid and/or vaginal juice.

 

Even thinking ‘vaginal juice’ was nasty, and you quickly wipe any instance of the word from your mind.

 

Ah, and before you knew it you were there, standing before the door to your apartment building.  ‘Skaia Apartments’ was hardly a classy establishment, but it was the only apartment building in town.  Two stories, no gate, just a few small buildings spattered here and there with doors in neat little rows and numbers in neat little plaques.  It was like if someone smushed the suburbs together and sold the result for your entire paycheck.

 

You climbed the stairs up to the second story, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself as you fumbled for your keys pre-emptively.  Always good to get the fuckers out before you reached the door, a paranoid habit you held onto since youth.  They jingled obnoxiously loudly against each other as you rifled through, flipping a few before grasping onto the plain, brassy one that was your door key.  It was a couple more doors until you reached the intended one – apartment 22, a number that made you laugh hysterically at the time you got it, when you were younger and more excited to be a grown up than you were now.  Now it just mocked you, mirrored your age back at you every time you looked at it, told you that you were supposed to be in college at this age, MIT or Oxford or who knows what else.

 

The lock tumbled and turned, and you found yourself throwing your weight against the door to open it, as the moisture in the air had once again swelled the wood to fit badly in its frame.  As a result, the door all but slammed open with the perhaps unnecessary show of force, but it was sure therapeutic.  You stretch and clench your fingers a few times, kicking the door behind you with a similar amount of force to get it to close, and then flicking it locked and setting the chain for good measure.

 

“Hey asshole, I’m home!  I sure hope that announcement is that you’re going to be doing the cooking from now on, because I had a shit day and need a fucking shower and the last thing I want to do is feed your ass!” you call out, tossing your jacket over the arm of your second-hand, lumpy couch.  You forget where exactly you got it, but you’re tempted to say ‘the side of the road’.

 

“Not exactly, Sol,” a voice from the kitchen returns, lightly trans-Atlantic and airy.  You groan in protest, toeing off those beat up trainers you were so fond of, and are nearly ready to growl at him that he’d be feeding himself when the sound of food frying and the delayed scent of something sweet hit your nose.  Oh, he’s actually cooking.  You peer around the doorway to watch, eyes quite inadvertently falling on a pale, sculpted back and following the natural line of blue and purple striped silk pajamas to an ass that you wouldn’t be afraid to admit was a nice one, even from a completely relative point of view.

 

“Then what’s the big news?  Have we discovered perpetual energy?  Is it about Oprah?  Are you actually related to Oprah and she’s giving us a house?  Am I actually related to Oprah?  I call bullshit, I wanted to be related to Ellen from the beginning,” you ramble off, not really knowing what you were saying or caring too much about your relation to a lesbian daytime TV host.

 

“Don’t you wish,” Eridan said, turning around and flipping what you could easily identify as tempura pieces of chicken in your favorite fucking honey orange sauce.  “No, I’ve got something almost as good.  It’s got me in a good mood.”

 

“Either you’re in a good enough mood to make me my favorite dinner, or you’re trying to get me compliant so you can ask me a completely ridiculous favor or proposition.”  You won’t be fooled by his tricks this time, not after the ‘let’s take swim classes’ together incident where you nearly drowned and he earned the adoration of most of the women there.  Twice.

 

“Why can’t it be both?”  Eridan asked with all the innocence he could muster, setting a plate in front of you.  You can’t help but roll your eyes at his behavior.  Yes, acting this sweet he definitely wants something from you.  Usually it’s all ‘fuck you’s and growled out threats when you call him out.  But no, the insufferable prick was really laying on the sugar coating.  An innocent passerby may make the mistake of thinking he was pure sugar coating, just a delicious and yet at the same time disgusting ball of super-sweet glaze, dried into the shape of a hipster.  Regardless, not going to pass up free food.  Eridan was one hell of a cook when he tried to be.

 

He definitely tried for you today.

 

“Okay douchebag, what is it?” you ask after the first few mouthfuls of chicken.  You figured you’d might as well eat a bit, so when you say ‘no’ he has less to take away out of spite.

 

“Well,” he begins, his voice doing that irritating thing where he stumbles over the ‘w’.  It happens when he’s nervous, or excited, or otherwise in a state of bouncing on his feet.  Which he doesn’t do, because he’s better at containing himself than you are.  “In short, there’s an openin’ in the business.”

 

“There are a lot of ‘openings’.  Ehehe,” you jest lightly, poking at your chicken a bit more before you catch on.

 

“Wait, are you trying to suggest I get into porn?” you ask, head snapping up so you can meet his gaze.  Absolutely infuriatingly unique, made you want to punch him in his stupid special-snowflake face.  Who the fuck had purple eyes?  Let alone purple with those fucking _golden rings_ around them, bleeding in and making his eyes look like gemstones.  You could wax disgusting poetic about his eyes another time, you were currently still trying to recover from the shock of essentially being asked to fuck for money.

 

“Listen, I just think it’s better than what you’re doing now, and pays more, and you’re definitely qualified from an aesthetic standpoint,” Eridan said, sort of rambling as if afraid you’d cut him off.  The compliment was meant to butter you up, quite obviously, to get your self-esteem up and maybe get you to crave more.  Nope, nuh uh, wasn’t working.

 

“What do you mean qualified from an aesthetic standpoint?”  you ask despite yourself.

 

“You’re just the type we need most, Sol.  All the guys are beefy or twinky, and you’re skinny but don’t look like I might get arrested for tearing that ass up.  Also you take good care of yourself, and people love the Bowie eyes,” he continued, his compliments starting to fade as you looked yourself over.  Were you really porn material?  You had sex maybe twice in your life, both times had seemed underwhelming.  Could you do it for a living?

 

“What kind of porn would I do?” you ask, voice a bit cautious now.  You were getting  pulled into this now, and you wanted to set some ground rules.  No BDSM shit, right?

 

“Whatever’s needed.  You can turn down jobs, though, so don’t get your panties in a knot,” his roommate turned potential coworker said.  “Usually they start you off with easier shit, though.  You can carve out your own niche after that.”

 

Your tongue flicks out over your lips, a horrible habit you picked up when you’re thinking.  After long sessions of coding it wasn’t uncommon for you to have a fully running engine, but chapped as fuck lips.  It was weird, it was beyond weird, to think of yourself having sex for a living.  Would you even be having sex right away, or would you start off janitorial and essentially doing the shit you are now but with cum instead of vomit?  You think back to the children, their precious faces when they learn you’re fucking and sucking and blown for twice the money you were dealing with their shit.  You think of the parents and the religious nuts who may recognize you.

 

You think of the fact that they’d need to buy a movie advertising how much sinful sideways samba it had to discover this.

 

“What about STDs?”  you ask, perhaps a bit belated considering the conversation.  Shouldn’t that have been your first point?

 

“Everyone with the agency is clean, we make sure of it before and after each shoot.  You can also do safe-only flicks, where you’re required to wear a condom, or most directors will let you wear a condom regardless, despite if it’s safe or not.  Then we have a free testing clinic that you can use at your will.  A free clinic is more than you’ll get with most jobs, kinda worth it for that perk alone,” he said, waving his hand dismissively, “considerin’ it doesn’t just do testing for STDs and all, it’s a pretty good resource.”

 

Was he seriously trying to argue that getting into porn had good health benefits?  You pinch the bridge of your nose, scowling a bit to yourself.  Were you really considering taking him up on his offer?

 

“What do I need to do?” you ask with a touch of resignation.  If you did get the job you’d need to put in your two weeks at – you know what fuck that, if you got the job you were going out with a bang.  None of this two weeks bullshit where you’d need to actually work two more weeks.

 

“So you’ll do it?”

 

“I’ll give it a shot, ED, but don’t think that if it blows I’ll keep doing it,” you grumble, though your argument sounds weak even to your own ears.  And when you see the look that comes over Eridan’s face, you feel a lot less motivated to construct a stronger one.  Despite how much the asshole gets on your nerves, the way his face lights up in genuine glee is a bit…  nice.  It’s nice.

 

“Great.  We can go in tomorrow mornin’, I doubt ya wanna go out right now,” he says, and you look down at your food in thought.  The sooner you did it, the sooner you could know if you were putting in your two weeks or not.

 

“How long do we have?”

 

“They’ll be leavin’ at ‘bout nine, I’d guess,” Eridan responds with a shrug, not seeming to give it much thought, “and getting in at around the same time in the mornin’ – where are you going?”

 

You push away from the table and stand on stiff legs, stretching and popping the last bite of chicken into your mouth.

 

“Shower,” you mumble around the bite, licking sauce off your lips and swallowing it down, “then we’ll leave.”  As you walk down the hall to shower, you faintly notice the look of shock on your roommate’s face as you leave him to clean up dinner.

 

 

 

What the fuck were you doing?

 

You scrub shampoo between your fingers, frowning at the tiled wall in front of you.  You were getting ready to go to a porn studio to perhaps get a job filming yourself naked and in a variety of positions and oh yeah having full on sex.  What the fuck?  This was not what you wanted to be doing with your life.  Granted, neither is working at some children’s wasteland where parents who don’t want to watch their little brats send them so they can pretend to be somewhere else whilst said children make your life a living hell.  But really, even that was closer to the mark than working at a porn studio, let alone as a porn actor.

 

You close your eyes against the spray to rinse your hair out.

 

It could always be worse, you figure.  You could not have any job at all, or a home, or a roommate willing to put up with your massive amounts of shit.  And at least he offered you a job out of figuring it was better than the shitty one you had.  Maybe it would be.  Maybe by the end of this you would say ‘Thank you Eridan for opening my eyes to this incredibly profitable and less hair-pullingly frustrating career track’.

 

It was unlikely, but still possible.

 

Squinting against the stinging chlorine in the shower water, you fumble amongst the several bottles of who the fuck knows what for your body wash.  Why did Eridan need so many bottles of hair and skin product?  What was this, ‘Color seal volumizing pre-wash’?  What the fuck?  You grab your bothering by comparison bottle of body wash and get to sudsing yourself up, closing your eyes and letting out a long sigh.  Long arms, bony pianist’s fingers, a frankly embarrassing chest and stomach, bony hips, and legs that had muscle from walking just about everywhere, but still managed to be scrawny and unimposing.  This body wasn’t made for porn, it was made for a before picture in a Total Gym ad.  But you suppose Eridan would know what a pornstar body was supposed to look like.

 

You rinsed yourself off and shut off the tap with a petulant squeak of metal on metal.  Towel, towel, where was that fucking towel?  Eyes closed against water that still clung to your eyelashes and dripped slowly down your face, you reached out of the warm sanctuary of the shower in search of the towel you had brought in with you.  It was pale, not the fluffiest thing in the world, and a bit worn out from use.  It was cheap, in other words.  But it got you dry, ish.  You made quick work of the water still clinging to your skin to get dressed, when there was a knock on the door.

 

“ED?  What the fuck do you want?” you called, wrapping the towel around your waist to crack the door open.  For a moment you swore you could see his eyes move, a flicker of them passing over you in approval, but it must have been your imagination as his eyes were boring into yours then.

 

“I brought you clothes,” he said.

 

“I have clothes,” you retort, turning your back to him to pick up a shirt as evidence.  Eridan tutted behind you and grabbed your shoulder, pulling you around to face him and shoving a pile of clothes into your arms.

 

“Don’t wear that rubbish, wear this.  Trust me, you’ll look good.”

 

You look down at the articles in your arms as Eridan leaves you to change, closing the door behind himself.  You rifle through with growing amounts of horror.  These are obviously Eridan’s clothes, an off the shoulder lavender top, underwear you’d only describe as a thong, and leather pants.  Leather fucking pants.  Surely this was some joke, and Eridan would laugh and return with more appropriate attire.  But seconds turned into minutes and there was no sign of your dickbag roommate, so you begrudgingly began to dress in the ridiculous getup.  He could of at least provided a decent shirt, one that offered a bit more of a masculine flair than something that seemed to be tailored to a woman’s body rather than a man’s.  Why did Eridan even own this?  He dressed more masculine than this, not to mention with a better taste in color.

 

Eridan seemed to sense when you were done changing, for just as your hand moved to rest on the handle to leave the bathroom, he was coming in with a comb and hairspray.  Oh shit, no, not the hair, you didn’t need to lose even more of your dignity.

 

But there he was, combing and primping and there was a blow dryer and you weren’t entirely sure what was going on beyond the fact that somewhere along the way, the pulls of the comb became slow and almost soothing.  Why the fuck was it soothing?  Your eyes closed, and before you knew it he was stepping back.

 

“There, done.  Now we’re ready to go.”

 

You look back to the mirror and your hair really isn’t done special.  He didn’t do anything ridiculous to it, just made it…  soft looking.  It flipped a bit away from your face, and your eyes looked brighter somehow.  You shake your head and look back to Eridan, who motions for you to stand up and look again.  You didn’t actually see how you looked in your clothes.

 

As you expected, the shirt is a little much, but you faintly understand the purpose of the leather pants.  Your legs are the most shapely part of you, and the form-fitting leather pronounces this as well as the curve of your ass.  Yeah, you look like you could fuck people for a living, seeing it now.

 

“Ready, Sol?” he asks, and you turn to face him in a new light.  Your heart is beating absurdly quickly, and you nod once.

 

“Yeah.  Ready.”

 

Eridan grabbed your arm and pulled you out of the bathroom.

 

 

 

The building was on the outskirts of town, a normal enough looking office space.  It was a box on the edge of the city before it tapered into scattered houses, painted white with an inconspicuous ‘Saddleback Industries’ sign posted out front.  You could laugh at the attempt at an innuendo, if it was one, and laugh more if it wasn’t intentional.  Eridan parked in a lot along the side, his dark blue sports car standing out against white hatchbacks, but you notice that there are a few cars sleeker and sexier than his littering the area.

 

You wonder, idly, where all these rich people go when the sun comes up.  Do they withdraw into the ground like worms, or recede into their crypts lined with plush carpeting and old coffins until they are once again fit to rise and feed off the pockets of the living?

 

Eridan opened the door for you, a courtesy you didn’t pay too much mind to as you got out and stretched slightly aching bones.  You were old for your age, and the work didn’t help.  Eridan gave you a reassuring smile as he lead you up and into the building, waving at a few people on the way.  The reactions were mixed, you noticed, from recognition to faint confusion and everything in between.  Eridan was no celebrity in the building, even though he was quite a prominent face outside of it.

 

“Most a the shootin’ isn’t exactly on location,” he explains, calling the elevator and giving you another little smile.  He seemed in his element, all relaxed muscles and good intentions and you understood how he could make certain women melt.  Yeah, like his intended audience was ever really ‘women’.

 

The two of you step into the elevator, Eridan pressing a button to send you to the top floor.  You groan internally, loathing long elevator rides.  Especially long elevator rides probably leading you to some bigwig of a company you never thought you’d know the name of, let alone want to work at.  Stepping back, you brace at the corner of the elevator and sulk a bit, glaring at the stainless steel doors as they slide closed and the elevator silently starts to ascend to the top floor.  This was going to take forever.  This guy was on the fifth floor and you didn’t have the patience for it.  Eridan rolled his eyes in your general direction as the elevator came to a smooth halt, opening to reveal a single hallway leading to a double door.  No mystery where you two were going.

 

You followed your roommate down the hall, hands cramming into the inadequate pockets of the pants he had convinced you to wear.  Eridan opens the doors and you can only hesitate from the rush of air conditioning, eyes closing a moment before your eyes meet those of a receptionist, and yet another door.    Eridan made his way over to said receptionist, mumbling something to her you couldn’t hear clearly, but sounded somewhat like ‘new recruit’ among other things.  You tense under her gaze as she looks you over, then nods and waves you through.  Eridan opens the second door for you, and you walk into an office that is quite a bit smaller than the waiting room.

 

“Hey, boss, remember how you were looking for someone to fill some positions?”

 

The desk in the middle of the room was occupied by one man, a man that sent a strange chill down your back.  He had brown hair, and a light tan, and a scruffy dusting of stubble, and he looked up at you with narrowed eyes.  You felt like more a piece of meat than ever, feeling his eyes bore into you.  You note with hesitant interest that the name plate on his desk simply read ‘A.H.’.  You wet your lips thinking of what it could stand for, when his voice breaks your thoughts.

 

“Yeah, you’ll work,” he says, standing from the desk and heading around to shake your hand.

 

“I’ll work…?”

 

“Yep, welcome to Saddleback.  Can you come in tomorrow for a screen test?”

 

You were a bit taken aback, was it really that easy?  Was it the clothes?  Was it your ass?  You craned your head around to stare down at said ass, deciding that it couldn’t be that.  But he just looked at you and gave you the job.  Was that how all porn worked?  Did you just need to look sexy?  Did you look sexy at all?

 

“Yeah, he can do that,” Eridan answered for you, laughing under his breath.  You blinked and looked towards him in confusion, before remembering what was requested and nodding.  What would a screen test entail?  That was a dumb question…

 

“Great.  Name’s Andrew, can’t wait to work with you,” the other man said, grasping your hand and shaking it perhaps a bit harder than necessary.

 

“I’m…  Sollux…  ED where are we going?”  you stammer out, realizing he’s steering and guiding you out of the office.  “That can’t be it.”

 

“That’s it, Sol, you got the job.”

 

“You got me all…  ‘gussied up’ for that?”

 

“Never hurts to make a good impression.”

 

“It’ll hurt when I make an impression on your jaw tomorrow and he realizes I’m not all he thinks I am,” you mumble, being pushed back into the car and taken home.

 

You wouldn’t sleep great that night.

 

But hey, no more Slap Me Jack’s.  Hollow victory.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah this chapter is long. I had more planned for it, but with how long this chapter alone got, I'm splitting it into two installments.

You slept like shit.

 

No, even that was an understatement.  Your night was spent worrying about your screen test, and realizing that you never thought you would be stressed out about the results of a screen test of you possibly having sex with a stranger on camera.  It wasn’t even the idea of having sex on camera, it was the idea of doing it badly enough to not get this job.  Did you seriously want this job?

 

You finally got to sleep some time after midnight, after fighting with the thoughts in your head and doing a bit of work on your laptop to try to will them away.  You had to get some sleep so you could be well rested by ten, when you had to go in to your screen test, and then you had to work noon to eight at the pizza place.  Unless you got the job, then you were going to go out as soon as you got in.

 

Your alarm was set to eight, and you all but smashed it with its first blaring beep.  Fucking annoying piece of shit.  You sigh and sit up, rubbing sleep out of your eyes and compiling a list of things to do.  You had to shower, and get some breakfast, and make sure Eridan was awake.  You quickly decided the reverse order would be best, as your roommate tended to be a heavy sleeper and you couldn’t get there without him.

 

You kick your feet out of bed, hoisting yourself up and walking out of your stiflingly small bedroom.  A bed, a desk, and a whole lot of clutter.  It was comfortable, at least the mess was.  The fact that the room was almost too small for the two bits of furniture in it?  Not so much.  As it was, your dresser was crammed in the closet.  You didn’t bother get changed just yet, though, not caring if you were only in your honey gold briefs as you shuffled your way down the hall.

 

“ED, wake the fuck up,” you called through his door, banging on it with the soft side of your fist, “my appointment’s in two hours and I won’t be late.”  To your surprise, the door swung open to reveal an Eridan that had obviously been awake for a while.

 

“Yeah, I’m awake.  Was just about to get ya up,” he said, ruffling your hair and causing you to huff out a breath.  Who gave this asshole permission to touch you, again?  Because it certainly wasn’t you.  You shrug and drag yourself into the kitchen for a spot of breakfast, leaning against the fridge to bring down a box of Captain Crunch, then grabbing a bowl and pouring yourself a heaping pile.  It was only when you went to retrieve the milk that you realized you had none.  Son of a bitch.

 

“ED, run out and get some milk,” you grumble, head hitting the freezer door with a dull thunk.  “We’re out.”

 

“Why can’t you go?”

 

“For starters, you’ve got a car,” you start, rounding on him.  “It’s cold out, and quicker for you to get there than for me to walk.  Also, I just woke up, and have more shit to do than abandon my cereal all by its lonesome to get milk so I can eat the damn stuff.  Also, you’re the one who used the last of it, I know you are.  So just go get some god damned milk from the corner store or some shit.”

 

“I still don’t see why I should,” he growled out, eyes giving an exaggerated roll.  “Considernin’ I pay all the bills and shit, why should I need to?  It’s right down the street, you’ve got legs and money.”

 

There he goes again.

 

“Listen, asshat, just because your name comes first on the lease doesn’t mean you’re the only one who contributes,” you hiss, anger bubbling up, “and it doesn’t make you king of the god damned world so _please_ for the love of fuck just go get some god damn milk so I can eat breakfast.”

 

Nothing like a good argument with Eridan to start off your morning.  Honestly, at this point neither of you really meant it – you two were friends, most of the time.  Your arguments were soothing, something that you both used to let off excess stress.  Usually afterwards you’d both laugh and be on good terms again.  So perhaps the idea of a nice bout with Eridan made your blood push a little faster in anticipation.  And if you knew your roommate at all, you knew he wouldn’t back down.

 

“Who contributes more?  I’m always running your ass everywhere because you don’t have a fucking car, and who pays for the gas?  You?  I don’t think so,” he shot right back, drawing his shoulders up and yes, you weren’t to be disappointed.

 

“All of my money at the end of the month goes towards rent and whatever other bills you decide I should pay that month.”  You can feel your fists clenching at your sides, with no real intention for them to do so.  “So how the fuck do you suggest I save up for a car when there’s a perfectly good one sitting in the lot?  And you still use more gas in that thing than I do, driving wherever the fuck you feel like while I have the sheer audacity to ask you to drive me to the store or doctor’s appointments or shit like that.”

 

“I don’t drive it wherever I want!” he snaps, taking a step towards you with his eyes glittering with pent-up fire.  “I drive it where I need to go!”

 

“Yeah, sure you do, like the mall or the spa or wherever the fuck your vanity dictates, right?”  and oh yes, he’s coming closer.  Is he going to hit you?  You want him to try to hit you, you want it to come to blows.  When it does it rarely goes far, but you like the little bit of physical violence.  It makes it more real.

 

“Sorry if my job involves me looking good and not like I just fell off a chuck wagon,” he retorts, and you hear that little waver in his voice again, that infuriating vocal quirk that makes you want to punch him or hit him or just make him feel pain.

 

“Yeah, your job more involves fucking the chuck wagon, doesn’t it?”  and there’s a smirk on your face and suddenly his forearm is stretched over your chest, slamming you back against the fridge.  His face is twisted into a look of rage, and he’s leaning close and putting pressure on your chest, then with a slight adjustment of his arm, against your throat.  You reach up and grab onto his arm, nails biting into the skin as you struggle for purchase.  He lets out a deep growl before backing off, grabbing his keys off the peg and slipping on his shoes.

 

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he says, slipping out the door and leaving you to struggle to get your breath back.

 

Sweet, you’d have milk in a few minutes.  Your blood was still pounding, and you feel some sort of weird twisting in your stomach that you’re going to chalk up to hunger.  You slide down the fridge and lean your head back against its cool surface, knees bent in the narrow confines of the kitchen.  You had to get your breathing and heart rate back under control before Eridan returned, though, you had to look unbothered and normal so you could continue your routine of pretending it didn’t happen.

 

You smoothed your hands down your front, working wrinkles out of your briefs and only then noticing your waning morning wood.  That would have made things awkward, had Eridan noticed.  You shrugged a bit to yourself, standing and reaching into the fridge once more for the bottle of orange juice to pour yourself a glass.  In the heat of the fight, you had forgotten why you were up so early in the first place.  Oh, right, you were auditioning for porn.

 

You were auditioning for _porn_.

 

You were half way through your glass by the time Eridan returned with the milk, handing it to your wordlessly and flopping in front of the television.  You poured a bit over your cereal before capping and returning the milk to the fridge, moving to sit on the couch a short distance from Eridan and watch some television as you ate.  The two of you quickly decided on Jersey Shore, muting it and supplying your own hilariously exaggerated voices to go with the happenings on-screen.

 

An episode later, you realized you should really get in the shower.  You had an hour before you had to be there and it was about twenty minutes to drive to the office.  So you jump up, toss your dishes in the sink, and high tail it for the bathroom.

 

“I’m pickin’ clothes for ya, so don’t bother bringing any in!” Eridan calls after you, and you just wave him off as you close the door.  You figured he’d be picking your clothes.  It saved you time, anyway.

 

You threw on the hot water, waiting with all the patience of a puppy for it to get to the right temperature before stripping off your briefs and stepping under the spray.  You washed your hair, and your body, and took the time to condition both before stepping out of the shower and toweling off.  There, that took fifteen minutes, now you got to take five to shave.  You really shouldn’t have watched that entire episode, you hate rushing to meet deadlines.

 

Despite all odds, you manage to lather your face and shave without missing any places or cutting yourself.  You’d congratulate yourself for that later, but after rinsing the residue of shaving cream off your face there was a knock at the door.  How did Eridan have such good timing?  You open the door, silently take the clothes, and close it again to change.  Eridan comes in after you have your underwear on to start fussing with your hair, this time using some sort of mousse to style it.  You don’t question him at this point, merely hissing whenever you need to work around his fussing hands.  Tight, dark blue jeans were still more agreeable than leather, in your opinion, and did their job of showing off your legs.  Your shirt was a button-up red one, silky and dark, rather inviting to look at.  You slip it on, taking your time with buttoning it up because Eridan was running his fingers through your hair now and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel nice.  The attention eventually stopped, though, and you clasped the last button on your shirt, only to have Eridan reach around and undo it so as to reveal a sliver of pale chest.  You glance up to the mirror and there’s a big difference from last night.  Where last night you looked ridiculous, too young and soft around the edges, this morning you looked sinful.  Dark jeans, dark shirt, and your hair was a controlled mess, and while last night’s style made you look soft, this one made you look sharp.

 

“Holy shit,” you say, voice more a breath than anything.  You look good.  You look real good and for a moment you wonder why you didn’t notice it before.  You had never been attractive, or cute, or any compliment like that before.  The only time you had even been handsome was in middle school, a pity shot from a girl far out of your league who quickly added on ‘but you’re just not my type’.  Eridan’s compliments were always laid on when he wanted something from you, and never really sincere.  But you could see it now.  You didn’t look like some dork who worked where he could.  You looked like a _man_.

 

“Are you sure you’re not a wizard or some shit, ED?”

 

“Come on, Sol, it’s not magic.  It’s a comb and some styling gel.  Surprisingly, this is what you look like,” Eridan said, voice a bit patronizing but you didn’t rightly care.  You were stunned, no other word for it.  It wasn’t until Eridan forcibly shook your shoulder that you turned your attention back to him.

 

“We’ve gotta go, Sol,” he pointed out, tapping his wrist.  You nod, standing and quickly slipping out of the bathroom and into your shoes.  Then it was quick work to get down to the car and on the road to an audition you were suddenly more confident about acing.

 

“Now when ya go in, they’re gonna ask you some questions and then start your test,” Eridan instructed, “and then they’ll introduce you to…  mm, probably Dirk.”

 

“Dirk,” you repeat incredulously.  “That’s a guy’s name.”

 

“Yeah, probably ‘cause he’s a guy,” your roommate said, obviously not noticing the issue.

 

“I’ve never fucked a guy before.”

 

“Surprise!” he cheered, hands flying off the wheel and up in the air in mock glee.

 

You curse and flail and pray to a god you don’t believe in that you’ll arrive to the studio alive and that your screen test won’t be a necro flick.

 

 

 

You didn’t go up to the top floor this time.  Eridan parked, the two of you went in, and approached the front desk on the ground floor.  The receptionist there had dark, curling hair and honey amber eyes, dusted with a shade that just about matched your shirt.

 

“Hey Ara,” the other man greets, leaning against the desk with a grin, “got some fresh meat here due for his audition.”

 

The receptionist looks up to Eridan, then at you, then down at her chart.

 

“Sollux Captor?” she asks, and even though she’s making no eye contact you know it’s addressed towards you.

 

“Uh, yeah, that’s me.  I’ve got a—“

 

“Ten o’ clock, yes.  Go right through that door to your left, alone,” she said, tagging on the ‘alone’ when Eridan made a move to accompany you.  Your roommate gave an over-the-top shrug and roll of the eyes before going to sit down.

 

“Good luck, Sol,” he said, and you suddenly felt a lot more nervous without him by your side as you made your way through the indicated door.  Sitting just inside was a short man, the type who looked more of the sort to buy porn than shoot it.  He was a scrawny fellow, with slicked back hair and glasses right out of some bad movie about the fifties.  You sat across from him, feeling isolated in a white room where the air conditioning rattled.

 

“Sollux Captor?” he asked, and something about his voice suggested that he was well aware and just wanted to make sure you knew.  You nod once and extend your hand, which he takes and gives two quick pumps before dropping again.

 

“My name is Luke Spalding, I’m just going to be doing your interview today,” he began, sounding like he honestly thought he was clearing something up.  No shit, you knew you weren’t going to fuck him.

 

“Alright, let’s start then.  How old are you?”

 

“Twenty-two,” you answer, folding your hands on the table in front of you.  Your interviewer looks at you for an extended period before scribbling something down on what you assume is your chart.

 

“You looked at least thirty,” he commented off-handedly, and you felt your good self esteem from your makeover fading.

 

“And what’s your birthday?”

 

“June second.”

 

“The year?”

 

“I just told you I’m twenty-two,” you respond immediately, and he gives you a little grin as you flounder.  “Er, I mean…  1990.”

 

“So you’re a Gemini, then?”

 

“Yeah, I guess so,” you respond off-handedly, even though he seems to find your astrological sign quite important and scribbles it down.

 

“What’s your ultimate turn-on?”

 

You gape, a little broadsided by the question, though you suppose you should have expected it.  This was a porn studio, after all, you weren’t going to be asked about, say, your retail experience.

 

“Uh…  I like a little force,” you admit weakly, tongue flicking out to lick your lips as you thought it through.  “And dirty talk.  I don’t really know what my ‘ultimate’ turn-on or fantasy is, though.”

 

He nodded mechanically, and you wondered if he was even listening as he wrote.

 

“How big are you?”

 

“I’m five foot ten.”

 

That made him laugh, and your brows tilt together in confusion.

 

“No, not your height.  Your penis.”

 

“Oh,” you said, looking down to your lap.  You felt stupid now.  “I don’t know, do guys actually measure it?”

 

“Just guess,” he instructed with a dismissive wave of the hand.

 

“Average, I guess?  Seven inches?”  You shrugged, staring at your crotch in confusion.  Were there guys who really just knew their dick size?

 

“Are you in a relationship right now?”

 

“No.”

 

“Good, good.  Alright, I think we’re done.  If you’ll step through that door we’ll start your screen test.”

 

Oh, fuck.

 

You looked to the indicated door, then back to the man who had just been questioning you.

 

“There’s not anyone in there, right?”

 

“Well, there’s your partner and a camera.  But no, there are no live spectators.”

 

Great, no live spectators.  That took so much pressure off.  Except not really, of course.  Regardless, you nod and step through the door, closing it behind you and giving a quick glance around.  It was larger than the room before, with a soft bed covered in rich blues and stark white sheets, a sink off to the side, and some candles littered around.  It was downright romantic and looked so out of place in the stiff, clean office feel of the rest of the building.  And yet it wasn’t a set, was it?  I mean, surely the actual movies had more plot than just ‘let’s have sex on this bed it’ll be nice’.

 

Off to the side of the room, leaning against the opposite wall of where the sink was positioned, you saw the man you assumed was to be your partner.  He had tousled, spiked back blonde hair and seemed to be wearing sunglasses that came to sharp points at the ends.  You found the sunglasses a bit odd, as you were indoors and the room was quite dimly lit.  Those features inescapable, you moved on to others.  He was tall, but not taller than you.  If he was, it wasn’t by much, at least.  He wore a close fitting white tee shirt, one that did its job of showing off the muscles lying beneath.  And he was wearing jeans, nowhere near as close fitted as yours, and a bit lighter in color.  He gave you a smoky grin from his perch, pushing off the wall and making his way towards you.

 

And yeah, okay, that grin was something else, something interesting.  He almost wielded it, like a weapon, and with the way your knees gave a slight quake you weren’t entirely convinced it wasn’t.

 

“Hey,” he greeted, and his voice was just as rich as you’d expect to match his appearance, “the name’s Dirk.”

 

“Sollux,” you return, and your voice sounds embarrassingly tiny compared to his.  Then again, this other man oozed confidence where you lacked it.

 

“Sollux,” he repeated, your name sounding much better on his lips than yours.  “There’s no pressure here, Sollux, we’re just supposed to do what comes naturally.  No weird scenario, no freaky requirements.  We’re just supposed to fuck.  We can go as fast or as slow as you want, and I promise you’ll like it,” and from the way his voice practically vibrated in his chest, you were compelled to believe him.

 

“I’ve never…  I’ve never had sex with a guy before,” you stammer out, and it only makes his smile soften into a more genuine one.

 

“Don’t worry.  I meant it when I said we could go as slow as you want.  There’s a reason I deal with the newbies, Sollux.  You wouldn’t be the first.  Come on, sit down,” he invited, and you found yourself sitting on the bed.  He took his place beside you, turning slightly towards you to give you his attention.

 

“You from around here?” he asked, laying a hand gently on your knee.  You nod once, forcing your nerves down.

 

“Yeah…  was born up in Charlotte, though.  You?”

 

“Nah.  Houston, originally,” he said, and it was then you noticed that yes, there was a twang of accent in his voice.  It was oddly nice, not obnoxiously thick as some of the Texan accents you’d heard.  Just a hint, a taste.  He gave your knee a gentle squeeze, and you found yourself scooting a bit closer to him.  You could almost forget about the camera, about the absurdity of the situation.  Sitting with Dirk was nice, he was calm and patient and conversational.  He touched you gently, waited until you were comfortable.  His hand started rubbing your leg, from knee to hip.

 

“You’re damn cute, Sollux,” he said after a moment of silent touching.  Cute.  You hadn’t heard that one before, but somehow it made you shift a bit where you sat and your heart flutter.  Dirk was moving closer now, and you felt breath puffing against your neck.  Instinctively, you tilt your head to the side and sigh.  And then there’s a light touch of lips, barely there and warm.  It’s nice, this is nice.  Dirk’s lips are soft, not chapped like yours doubtlessly are, and he takes his time trailing them down the side of your neck.  It tickled, but not unpleasantly.  The touches were feather light, and as Dirk reached your clavicle he introduced some tongue.  And oh, that was interesting.  It was hot and wet where his lips were cooler and smooth.

 

Dirk’s arm went around your waist, holding you up as mere licks gave way to open-mouthed kisses and gentle nips that descended into the open shirt.  Your eyes flutter a bit, his free hand coming up to work the rest of the buttons loose.  Oh fuck he was actually doing this, and it actually felt good.  It felt really good.  He chuckled a bit when you sighed, nosing your shirt aside to brush his lips over a nipple.  It felt strange, you hadn’t really paid much mind to that part before.  But another gentle kiss and trail of his tongue sent a jolt down your spine.  Wow, they were…  sensitive.  Another lick and you gave a quiet moan.  Very sensitive.

 

“You’ve never touched there before, have you?” he grumbled from where he hovered, right near your chest.  You shook your head slightly, fingers running through his hair as his teeth clamped lightly around the nub.  Your head fell back as he began to suck, lips working and tongue pressing against it.  His hand rose to pinch and roll around the other, sharp currents of pleasure hit you like waves as he worked, leaving you gasping softly and rolling your hips instinctively.  He chuckled again and pulled back to gaze at you for a few moments, leaving you panting and cold.

 

“Yeah, you’re not just cute.  Fucking hell.  You’re sexy like this,” he said, his smooth voice a bit rough from arousal.  You couldn’t imagine what you looked like.  Your face felt hot, and you were panting, and you were most definitely hard and straining against your fly.  And then you remembered the camera, that this was your screen test, and squirmed a bit until your feet were pointed towards it.  Dirk looked on in approval, grinning a bit as you worked back onto your elbows and spread your legs out in such a way that your bulge was on prominent display.

 

And then he was on you again, working your shirt the rest of the way open and pushing it off your arms, casting your form against the dark silk.  He started kissing as soon as he could, resuming his path down your body and this time down your stomach, which arched and tensed under the tickling touches.  It was nice, really nice, and you made a mental note of how many times you’ve used the word’ nice’ in relation with what Dirk was doing to you.  He fell between your legs, kneeling on the floor and pushing your knees apart a slight bit more.  And then he was pulling you forward by the knees.  You had a fairly good idea of where he was going with this, and your cock bobbed a bit in anticipation.  He seemed to notice the reaction through the denim of your jeans, humming in satisfaction and pressing his lips against the still-clothed erection.  You let out a tiny moan of encouragement, and he opened his mouth to trail hot licks and gentle, wet suction over the fabric.  You dearly wished he would move the thick denim out of the way, so you could feel the heat better.

 

His hands were on your thighs, rubbing and soothing them as the muscles shuddered and tensed.  You wanted him to take off those sunglasses so you could see his eyes, so you could look at them and maybe see if they were as dark and lidded as yours must be.  But he infuriatingly didn’t even move to touch them, instead letting his tongue swirl at the apex of the bulge in your jeans.  You hissed and pulled at the blanket beneath you, hoping to get your point across.  But he continued to take his time, to tease.

 

His tongue pressed, probed, drew little noises and deep sighs of pleasure from you.  You could only just feel the moisture and body heat through the layers, and that was more torturous than the lack of suction.  As his hand joined the mix, palming and giving much more definite contact through your clothing, you began to pant with more frequency, your moans growing higher and being joined by a symphony of little whimpers and whines.  And then he began to back off again, and your breath hitched in a choked back sob of frustration.  At a loss of what to do, you whispered a little plea.

 

“Please…”

 

He tilted his chin up a bit, acknowledging you.  But he still slowed down, still started to pull the pleasure back.  And so you repeated yourself, louder.

 

“Please!”

 

The desperate edge in your voice seemed to satisfy him, and he not only replaced his hand and mouth, but worked your fly undone.  Yes, fuck, finally.  You let your head fall back as he shimmied the jeans down your legs, down to your ankles, and gingerly lifted them one by one to take the pants off and cast them aside.  You were now left in the pale blue briefs, highly tented and wet from fluid that had beaded on the head of your all but painful erection.  Dirk took his time to admire this, as well, palming and rubbing you at the base and letting his fingers trail and rub against your balls.  You let out a particularly embarrassingly high pitched moan, purely from the relief of contact without thick denim in the way.  And then he was pulling his sunglasses off, fucking finally, and oh.  His eyes were nearly orange, a deep honey color, and you found yourself staring.  He smirked, just a bit, and returned to mouthing your cock through the fabric of your underwear.  And now you could feel the heat, and the moisture of his saliva working its way through the fabric, and your fingers worked their way back to tug lightly at the other’s hair.  It was softer than it looked, and you idly wondered what kind of gel he used for his spiked hair to be simultaneously soft and perfectly formed.  You didn’t have much time left for coherent thought, though, as his lips sealed around the head of your cock beneath the signifying wet spot in your briefs, sucking and poking his tongue against you through the already moisture-logged garment.

 

“Fuck,” you curse softly, trembling under his touches.  You could tell why he was a professional, he was absolutely fantastic and you didn’t even have your briefs off yet.  As if reading your mind, Dirk hooked a finger into the waistband and pulled them down.  Your cock sprang free, the head glistening from smeared moisture.  He didn’t waste time just admiring for once, taking you into his mouth and pulsing his tongue against the underside.  You struggled to keep yourself upright, watching that blonde head bob and take more and more into his mouth.  You wondered how far down he would go, how much he could fit.  You began stroking his hair gently, rather than pulling it, and he let out a hum of pleasure.  He liked having his hair touched, then.  Good.

 

Dirk was touching your thighs again, this time skin on bare skin.  Speaking of skin, why was so little of Dirk’s showing?  You let out a little whine to get his attention, but almost couldn’t bring yourself to tell him to stop.  He seemed to be more than enjoying himself, lips sealed around your cock and working more and more into his mouth even now.  Could he take all of it?  You choked on a moan as he did just that, nose burying itself into the dark curls at the base of your dick.  He didn’t even gag around you, but you could feel the hot muscle of his throat working and clenching, trying to swallow you down.  You lifted your hips just a bit, not wanting to choke him but quite unable to stop yourself from craving the heat and pleasure of his mouth.

 

“S-stop,” you finally manage, blood pounding in your ears.  You almost wanted to tell Dirk to keep going as he pulled back, agonizingly slow, and slid off your cock with a wet pop.  You immediately regretted telling him to stop.  A glance down to your erection told you that you wouldn’t have lasted much longer.  It bobbed slightly with every beat of your heart, glistening with a mixture of saliva and your own fluid.  Fuck, Dirk did that to you.

 

“You’re…  wearing too much.  I want to see you, too,” you said, chest heaving with breath you were struggling to control.  Dirk seemed surprised by the request, but grinned and pulled his shirt off.  Fuck.  You let out a low noise when his torso was exposed, well-muscled and you were overcome with the urge to taste every little trace of sweat caught between said muscles.

 

“Are you going to fuck me?”  you ask, and where the fuck did that come from?  You were just getting amazing head, you could probably ride that out and get a great orgasm out of it and not need to have anything shoved up your ass.  Dirk paused, fingers clasped around the button of his jeans, and stared at you levelly.

 

“Do you want me to fuck you?” he asked, and you found yourself thinking the question over carefully.  You didn’t want a cock up your ass even earlier today, but it seemed like a great idea all of a sudden.

 

“Yeah,” you said at length, and Dirk grinned in response.  He opened his fly enough for you to get a glimpse of blonde, coarse hair beneath and of course he wasn’t wearing underwear.  He moved his way over to one of the few other pieces of furniture in the room, a bedside table, and retrieved a box of condoms and a tube of lubricant from it.  He walked back over to you, shifting you a bit so that the camera got a sideways angle of you, so that he wouldn’t block its view when he slid between your legs.  He stood at the edge of the bed, pulling you towards himself to get at you easily.  He removed the cap on the lube and applied a liberal amount to his hand, probably more than necessary, and spread it between his fingers.  You worked your legs open your legs wider, knees up against his sides.  He smiled and leaned over you a bit, trailing a finger around the tight ring of muscle before pushing it in.  The feeling was strange, foreign.  To be fair, a slick finger up your ass wasn’t exactly something you encountered on a regular basis.  Despite its oddness, however, it felt incredibly good.  Dirk had marvelously long, slender fingers, and as soon as you were used to the feeling of something pushed so deep inside he began to pump and twist it.  Fuck.

 

Your legs spread wider, hips giving a sharp jolt in protest and you pull them back with a weak groan of irritation.  Dirk laughed above you and pushed another finger in beside the first.  You tensed up there, because even though it was only one more finger it felt impossibly wider.  The pumping stopped, letting you get used to the feeling.  It took you longer this time, and a few heavy gulps of air, before your muscles relaxed around Dirk’s probing fingers and you nodded.  He nodded back and started moving his fingers again, and you couldn’t help but let your eyes fall shut.  The feeling was intense, and for as uncomfortable as the two fingers had been the discomfort quickly faded into pleasure.  Did it always feel like this?  Another finger, and you barely took heed, only taking a few moments to adjust.  Dirk seemed pleased by this, as you heard him give another little satisfied hum above you as he started working into you again.  Those long digits pumped and spread and of all things, you wondered if you were going to be in time for work.  This thought, however, was quickly banished from your mind as those fingers crooked against some spot deep inside you and you let out a weak cry of pleasure.  And heard another laugh above you.

 

“Bingo,” Dirk growled, and that tone was absolutely fucking perfect and you found yourself bucking against his fingers.  How could just a voice cause pleasure to run through you?

 

“You know what I want to hear, Sollux,” he taunted, and you struggled.  Sollux, that was your name, right?  What did he want to hear, what would keep the pleasure up?  You ran your tongue over your lips, reeling for words.  And then you only faintly remembered what got him to continue last time you were left in this pleasurable limbo.  The word caught in your throat, however, unable to muster the courage to say it.

 

“Go on,” Dirk growled again, crooking his fingers to touch that spot deep inside you that made you cry out once again.  And suddenly your courage seemed a lot less of an issue when put against your need.

 

“Please!”  and it was high, and cracked a bit, but you couldn’t even be embarrassed about it.  You just wanted more, you wanted Dirk’s cock _now_.

 

And Dirk seemed to like your urgency, pulling his hand out and stepping back to roll a condom onto himself, running his slick hand from base to tip and back down to thoroughly coat himself.  You watched through blurry eyes, only now noticing the sheer size.  Dirk wasn’t especially huge, perhaps the same length as you if not a bit thicker.  But he was huge, compared to fingers, and you momentarily wondered if you could take it.  Your heartbeat picked up again, nervous about what was certainly going to hurt.  Why did you think this was a good idea?  He would have gotten you off with his mouth if you only hadn’t mentioned being fucked.  Dirk hesitated, seeming to notice your nerves, and smiled.

 

“Calm down, Sollux,” he soothed, sliding between your legs again and touching your cheek with his dry hand.  You found yourself leaning into it, swallowing heavily.  He’d make sure it didn’t hurt, he had been so careful with you so far.  You nod a bit, and tense up slightly as he leans in and presses his lips to yours.  Even his kisses were gentle, patient, soft.  And you were relaxing now, just from the gentle kiss.  And then his tongue, just as careful and inquisitive.  He didn’t even dive into your mouth, just pressed against your lips and waited for yours to meet and touch and rub.  But once you tasted him, he did push forward into your mouth and slid his tongue against yours, explored your mouth.  Fuck, he was good.  You were momentarily distracted from the fact that you were both quite naked and the head of his dick was pressed against your ass.  That is, until he began to slowly push forward and you felt like you were being pulled apart.  You let out a weak cry into his mouth, and his hands were on your sides, rubbing and soothing even as his hips stilled momentarily.

 

No, fuck, don’t stop, it hurts but it doesn’t hurt that bad.

 

From the way his hips slid forward once more, you swore he could read your thoughts.  You whimpered and gasped into his mouth, and he only stilled once he was completely inside your body, seated in to the hilt.  It was incredible, simultaneously too much and not enough.  You found yourself rocking against him, clenching down slightly on the invading force, and he started moving again.  He drew himself out slowly, then pressed back in with just a bit more speed than his initial thrust.  You tilted your head back and moaned out, panting in fresh, if not hot and humid, air.  It felt good, it felt beyond good and you wanted more of that.  More Dirk.

 

“You gonna ask nicely, sexy?” he asked, his voice sounding so far away even though it was practically in your ear.  It was, in fact, you had just noticed his lips tracing against the shell of your ear as he spoke.  You bit down on your lip and nodded, heels pressing lightly against his lower back.

 

“Please, Dirk,” you said, voice wavering.

 

“Please what?”  and his own came out mocking, though it trembled slightly from wanting to just fuck and you found yourself sympathizing.

 

“Please fuck me,” you whisper.  “Fuck me, take me, hard.  I want you to be…  to be rough with me.  I can take it.”

 

“You sure, babe?”

 

“Yes, please!  Just…  just – ah!”  you were interrupted by your own high cry as he pulled out and pushed roughly back in.  You threw your head back, barely able to gasp in a breath before another hard thrust shook you to the core.  And then it started, a quick and ruthless pace, hips slapping against hips, and you were screaming.

 

Your nails bit into his back, wracked down the soft, tender, sweaty flesh.  It was too much, and yet it was just perfect the way his hips angled and yes _right there right there oh fuck yes_.

 

“Dirk!”

 

Hearing his name seemed to encourage him, and he hit that spot with every thrust now.  You were wound tight from the constant assault on your body, you could feel the volcanic heat in your belly about to explode, and from the way Dirk’s thrusting became erratic and jerky you knew he was in no better shape.  You clenched and rocked against him, crying and letting out choked sobs and you didn’t even have a chance to tell him you were coming before you did, the tension in your belly snapping like a band as a flood of heat and pleasure gushed from you in white, hot strands that spread over your belly and, after a moment, Dirk’s hand as he moved to milk every last drop from you.  You felt him thrust in once more and tense, and something in the back of your mind wished you could feel the heat of it deep inside you.  And then you’re slumping against the bed, panting and spent, and he carefully pulls out of you.  You can still barely think, and you almost don’t register it when Dirk wipes your body clean and give him a lazy smile of thanks.

 

Recovery took some time, finding yourself having difficulty getting your pulse and breathing back to normal rates.  He stays by you, strokes your hair, lets you drift down from your orgasmic high.  And then he hands you your clothes and a glass of water, both of which you accept gratefully.  You two get dressed in relative silence, the fact that you just lost your anal virginity on camera, to someone you didn’t feel anything for and barely knew was less awkward than you thought it would be.

 

“You alright?” he asked, glancing over at you as he replaced his shades.  You nod, doing the second to last button on your shirt before letting your hands fall to your sides again.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine.  That was…  great,” you say, unable to keep from laughing.

 

“I really think you nailed it, Sollux.  You’re one hell of a lay, and fuck.  The noises you made, shit.  I’m a vet in the business and could get off to those,” he praised, a genuine tone in his voice.  Your shoulders squared a bit, smiling a bit in pride.  Your noises were that great?  Dirk gave you a little smile and a kiss on the cheek, before guiding you to the door and opening it for you.  The other room was mercifully empty, and you glanced back to Dirk, feeling a bit weird.  You just had incredible sex, and now you two were just smiling and friends and…  this was actually not that bad.

 

“Come on, I’ll come with you out into the waiting room.  They’ll go over the footage and then let you know if they wanna keep you on.  I’ll wait with you, if you’d like.”

 

You hesitate, then smile and nod.  Yeah, that’s actually a good idea.  Then you can be waiting with both Eridan and the guy who just fucked you soundly.  They probably knew each other.

 

 

 

And sure enough, they did.  The three of you talked and laughed casually, though most of the time Dirk faded into the background and let you and Eridan chatter away excitedly.  Eridan was convinced you’d make it, and Dirk agreed, and you expressed how awkward it would be if you got paired with Eridan for a movie and he just laughed.  You were smiling more than you had in a long time, and when the guy from your interview – Luke, was it?  -- came out again, you were in an infinitely great mood.  He gave you a smile, and you couldn’t even feel awkward that he had watched you have hot, desperate sex.

 

“Good news, Mr. Captor,” he said good-naturedly, and Eridan slapped you on the back.

 

You shouldn’t have been so excited to be in the porn industry, and you might regret it later, but for now all you could do was laugh in glee and invite Dirk out with you and Eridan for a celebratory lunch, one that he happily accepted.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, chapter three! Chapter four won't take as long, promise. And, just in case people were wondering (as at least two were, according to tumblr), my tumblr is mituna-spooky-sandwich!

You were going to go out with a bang.  A bang, and a sore ass.

 

Honestly, you should have thought this through better, then you wouldn’t be limping into Slappy Jack’s Pizza Parlour.  Striding, perhaps, but not limping.  How were you supposed to go out in style when you could barely walk like you didn’t learn yesterday?  It was downright embarrassing, and from the way Eridan laughed at you as you walked in you knew it was more than a little obvious.

 

Fucking nutsacks on fire.

 

You grimace a bit as you go to change into your work clothes in the bathroom, drawing more than a few looks ranging from pitiable to perturbed to downright disgusted.  You figured the disgusted ones had enough hard anal sex to recognize the post-coitus limp while the rest thought there was something wrong with you.  Maybe there was.  Whatever, you weren’t going to ponder this philosophical bullshit when you had a job to get fired from.

 

‘How am I going to do that, exactly?’ you ask, extracting your foot from a now wet sock after having had the misfortune of stepping in a puddle of what you hope was water.  ‘It’s not like I know how everything works in the damn place and could reroute the singing animatronic animals to sing a totally inappropriate song or anything.  Oh, wait.’

 

You could do that, you suppose.  You could make the lovable children’s characters sing something like ‘The Bad Touch’ or ‘Jizz In My Pants’ or any of the other songs that make Eridan giggle like a child.  Or you could hog the game machines, or insult the clientele, or replace mop water with pizza grease.  You could flick pennies at the owner, take a roll of tickets out of a machine and fashion yourself a dress from the ribbon, tell children horror stories about the ‘real’ Slappy Jack, or…

 

No, that was perfect.  You smirk, emerging from the bathroom stall and preparing to watch the world burn.

 

 

 

Your boss is a pious man, really.  Goes to church at least twice a week, usually three times.  He has a wife, two kids, two dogs, and two glasses of scotch every day after work.  And while he used to go to the bar to indulge this thirst, he took to keeping some bottles of good label liquor in his office, in a computerized lockbox under his desk.  Completely safe, right?  It didn’t have a combination lock to listen to the tumblers, or a key lock to pick.  It was all computerized.  It would only be broken into after finding a random numeric code out of thousands, and locked you out after five tries.

 

Impossible for anyone but you, maybe.

 

Your boss was known for two things – his horrible memory, and his reliance on his computer.  So it was a logical assumption that he’d have the code squirreled away somewhere on his harddrive.  But that would take forever to find, right?  And you didn’t have much time until you were caught.

 

You smirked, opened a word document, and made a simple program to search for files containing the six number format required for the safe, and very little if anything else.

 

Exactly three files fit that criteria, and after a total of fifteen minutes you had the safe open, withdrawing two bottles of dark, sweet scotch.  You closed the safe, quietly tucking the bottles in your cleaning cart, and walked out.  You even took care to greet your boss as you walked by and pretend you had a question for him, before continuing to the soda fountain.

 

This part would be trickier.  There were eyes everywhere.  With a slight of hand, you managed to empty first one, then part of the other bottle into the top of the soda machine, into the vast amounts of carbonated water ready to infuse itself with sugary sweetness for the little tykes’ soda drinks.

 

Stage one, complete.

 

A few kids complained about their soda tasting funny, but overall seemed to suck it up – literally and figuratively – and even go back for refills.  Progressively more wobbly refills.  Actually most of the kids passed out after half a cup, sauced off their asses.  The parents seemed thankful for their kids to be sleeping instead of screaming, and you felt the same.  A few children were heavier weights, however, and were proceeding to run drunk through the parlour, laughing absurdly about just about everything and one paused to vomit precisely where you were hoping he would.

 

Your boss’ shoe.

 

Now, your boss may have been a pious man, but there was a reason he needed two glasses of scotch after work.  The reason was under five feet tall and called him ‘Mister’.  In short, it was damn amusing to watch as your boss lost his composer, screaming abuse at the kid, and then his parents, and then you when he saw you laughing.  And then you laughed harder.

 

By the time you wandered back outside, you were struggling to breathe properly and Eridan was giving you a weird look from the other side of the windshield.  You slid into the passenger seat, wincing a bit because yes, that’s right, you still got fucked in the ass recently.  Regardless you continue to smile, holding up your pilfered scotch in victory.  Eridan takes it, like you knew he would.  You don’t drink, anyway, it was more a ‘thanks for the lift and putting up with my shit and getting me a better job and getting me laid’ present.  Hopefully the meaning was lost on him.

 

“That was fucking amazing,” you say, fingers sliding back through your hair as you finally get your breath under control.  Eridan looks over to you just as you shut your eyes to revel in the feeling of how awesome you are.

 

“What did ya do, Sol?” he asks, starting the car and reaching an arm around to brace against the seat behind your head so he can back out.  You want to tell him everything you did, despite the fact that you’re fairly certain it’s a felony.  Like he would tell anyone, right?  Who was there to tell?  But another part of you just wanted to bask in the moment, enjoy the fact that you just got a bunch of children drunk and stole liquor from your boss and didn’t really leave a damn trace.  If your boss tried to nail you for the theft, he’d admit to having liquor on property, be asked how you got it out, and probably be convicted for getting those aforementioned children drunk.

 

Check and mate, legal system.

 

“A bunch of shit,” you settle for, letting your head loll to the side as you two begin the drive back.  You were once again faced with the reality that you were a sex worker, no turning back now.  Honestly, you hoped you stopped having those fucking thoughts soon, they were getting annoying.  You were having sex for money, sex on camera for money.  You were being paid for your screen test (and hell, you would’ve done that shit for free with how good Dirk was), and it was only the start of even larger paychecks.  Focus on the positive.

 

“Saddleback called while you were in there,” Eridan mentioned, conversationally.  Called about you, no doubt, or Eridan wouldn’t sound so leading.  He’d just say ‘I’ve got a job soon’ and leave it at that.  You could just refuse to respond, could just leave him hanging until he eventually just told you out of desperation.

 

“Yeah?” you rise to the bait, just like he knew you would.  Damn him.

 

“Seems they’ve already got an idea for a job for ya,” he said with a nod, glancing over to gauge your reaction.  Honestly you’re rather surprised.  You just did your screentest earlier that day and they already had a job lined up?  You want to protest, because you’re still sore, but Eridan seems to see that one coming.

 

“Not for any time soon, don’t get your panties up in a bunch,” he hurries to add, “it’ll be at least three days.”

 

You nod a bit, relieved at that much.  You were a bit curious what was in store, though – your screen test proved to be surprisingly fun, and they weren’t selling that.  Which gave you some comfort, that the moment wasn’t cheapened.  Of course, the comfort was quickly overcome by a fresh surge of pain up your spine.  Fucking Dirk with his fucking cock…

 

You huff out a breath, and Eridan must have noticed as he glanced over once more.  Nonetheless, he just smirks a bit and looks back to the road.  And that gives you a thought – completely out of left field, but a thought regardless.  And after he got you into porn, you figured there wouldn’t be too much harm in voicing it.

 

“Who was your screen test with?” you ask, turning your attention to the other man.  His lips pursed, and for a moment you were going to withdraw the question.  Probably none of your business, probably just a bother for him to answer.

 

“She was…  beautiful,” he said after a moment.  “She was actually my girlfriend all through high school.  We got into the business together, and so they let us test together.  Long, dark curls that fell so pretty down her back, and the brightest, bluest eyes you’ve ever seen.  Sol, they were like the ocean…  it’s an image that sticks with me.  Just her pretty eyes.  And I swear, Sol, there was this…  magenta in them,” he said, teeth clenching as he spoke.  You could only stare, watch as his hands clenched around the wheel and his brows narrowed towards each other.  You hadn’t seen him so…  vexed, that was the only word for it.  Vexed.  He seemed profoundly disturbed by the memory, and some part of you gave a twinge at the thought of Eridan going through a breakup bad enough to bother him so.  You don’t press him any more, just giving him a gentle pat on the shoulder with an accompanying squeeze.

 

“I’m fine,” he said dismissively, shrugging your hand off.  It fell back to your thigh, twirling and sliding over the fabric of your jeans as you finished the drive home in relative silence.

 

 

 

The two of you called in that night, a sort of modest celebration at finally leaving your shitty, dead-end job and starting something new.  The restaurant of choice was Suitand Thai, your favorite little dive in town.  Eridan pivoted on his foot in the kitchen, pacing idly as he placed the order.  Two big bowls of green curry, one chicken and one fish, both extra hot, a twenty piece of fried bananas and two scoops of red bean ice cream, with egg rolls.  Your mouth was watering just thinking about it, and as soon as he hung up you jumped up and offered to set the table, by which you meant get the living room ready for movie and dinner night.  Eridan seemed genuinely surprised at your offer, but gave you his biggest grin and said he’d go to get some movies and more ice cream in return.  He pat you on the side as he walked by, and you started setting up for your little party.  TV trays, two tall glasses of alcohol – a daiquiri for him and a frothy glass of your favorite mead for yourself – and, most importantly, a big bowl of popcorn for munching once you ran out of food.

 

Eridan returned just after the food arrived, and you were in the middle of divvying up rice between two bowls when he walked in.  He sat a stack of movies down on the arm of the couch, stumbled a bit to catch them as they slid to the side, and stuck two pints of ice cream in the freezer.  One of them looked suspiciously like your primo, double-slow-churned Honey Bee Graham ice cream.  The thought of it was enough to distract you from Eridan slipping into his room.  When you did notice his absence, you simply shrugged and sat at your respective spot on the couch to wait.

 

The disc menu for Slumdog Millionare was wrapping up for the sixth time by the time Eridan emerged again.  And this you did notice, because of what Eridan was wearing.  While your roommate generally dressed well, you wondered what urged him to change out of his trim but casual clothes and into…  that.  Black dress shirt, top button undone, and dark jeans that fit him, well, perfectly.  You wondered what they must of cost, because Eridan doesn’t settle for anything but the top of the line.

 

“Do you have a job or something?” you ask, unable to stop from sounding disappointed at the thought of him ditching you.

 

“Nah, just wanted to wear this,” he responds, and you find yourself…  very comforted by that.  He sits down, right next to you, and you two eat.  And watch.  And make fun of the movie.  You’re not sure when, but somewhere along the line you two are digging straight into pints of ice cream.  And yes, he got you your favorite, and his own favorite coffee, and between the soothing buzz of mead and the richness of your ice cream, you must have fallen asleep.

 

 

 

You wake up in your bed, which is weird.  You probably sleepwalked, or didn’t remember getting up in the night.  Neither of these occurrences were unlikely or uncommon, so you dismissed the oddity of being in your bed as one or the other.  Your back pops as you sit up, fingers scrubbing and sliding through your hair.  A shower would be nice, maybe a bite to eat.  You also needed to piss, but what were you to expect after falling asleep with a bladder full of mead?  You kick your blankets off and stand up, scowling upon the discovery, or perhaps the realization, that you fell asleep in your clothes.  No wonder you felt so smothered.  You pull your shirt off and toss it across the room with mild disgust as you head out into the hall, looking left and right for your roommate.  Said roommate wasn’t anywhere apparent, and you meandered into the kitchen to confirm your suspicions with a note.

 

_sol,_

_sorry to leave without notice.  something popped up and i need to go in-office for the day to review my last footage.  ill see you later though._

_eri_

You shrug, casting the note into the trash.  Eridan having to leave for one reason or another other than to have sex wasn’t uncommon, and as long as you knew he wasn’t murdered or a figment of your imagination the whole time, you were fine with wherever he chose to go.  You jerk the fridge open to grab the milk, scratching at your side as you proceed to take your Oops! All Berries down from the top of the fridge and pour a bowl of the vaguely fruit-ish sugar lumps.  A splash of milk and a spoon, and viola.  Breakfast was served.  You yawn and carry your bounty to the kitchen table, but don’t sit.  Instead, you stand and look around with all the interest of a brain-dead cow as you proceed to crunch through your cereal.  So what did you have to do today?  You didn’t have work, you had no car, you had no roommate…  watch TV all day?  That sounded boring as shit.  Take a walk?

 

Well, why not?  You really should work on getting in some semblance of shape, now that you were showing off your body for a living.

 

You finished your cereal quickly, tossing the bowl in the sink and running a bit of water into it before going to get dressed.  Maybe shower…  okay, yeah, shower, get the smell of Slappy Whoever’s off of you.  You walked into the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind you before pulling off your pants and briefs in one yank.  Your ass felt reasonably better today, you noticed with oddly mixed emotions.  The sex felt like it should have left you out of commission for a week, but you were better after a day.  It did make you feel quite a bit better about your future jobs, though.  You threw open the tap, standing back to wait for the water to heat up.

 

As it did, you let your mind wander.  Of all things, though, your mind chose to latch onto Eridan.  More explicitly, the fact that Eridan’s ex seemed to work for the company.  At least, she did.  Did she still?  From what Eridan said, she was pretty, it would make sense for her to stay in the career.  Right?  You step under the spray, sighing as hot water hits your body and washes away Slappy Jack’s for the last time.

 

Was Eridan ever paired with her on movies?  He said you could turn down jobs as you wanted, so did he just refuse to work with her any more?  You never knew that Eridan dated a woman, he always seemed the epitome of flamboyantly gay to you.  Why did they break up?  Why did you even care?

 

You lathered your hair up with a tight frown, trying to steer your mind off that course.  Think of something else, Sollux.  You start to count the tiles on the shower wall, fingers twitching at the asymmetrical caulking on the top row, falling without pattern to the row of tiles below.  Tile showers were, by far, the bane of anyone with even slight organizational problems.  That distraction only lasted a few minutes, though, and you were soon rinsing your hair and searching for another thing to occupy your mind.

 

Zero, one, one, two, three, five, eight, thirteen, twenty-one, thirty-four, fifty-five, eighty-nine…

 

The Fibonacci sequence was a welcome distraction, and you counted up as you rinsed your hair out.  How far would you get this time before you needed to give the math an extended thought?

 

One hundred forty-four…

 

A quick wash to your body and you were done, reaching out of the shower to grab your towel as you shut it off.  Right, a walk.  A walk was your plan.  Where to, though?  Well, there was the café, you hadn’t been there in who the fuck knows how long, and could go for one of those creamy coffee drinks that Eridan got you hooked on.

 

You walked out of the bathroom, towel around your waist, to get dressed.  Nothing fancy, for once.  Your ‘Save The Murlocs’ shirt and favorite pair of beaten up jeans.  And…  eh, the red and blue boxers, why not?  You get dressed quickly, giving your hair a token run through with a comb before grabbing your wallet and keys and heading out, being sure to lock up behind you.

 

The sky was dreary as always, though it seemed just a bit more manageable than it had been just a few days ago.  You did, however, immediately regret your decision to not bring a jacket.  Oh well, maybe just a hot coffee drink when you got to the café.

 

You took the steps two at a time down to the ground level, hands jamming in your pockets.  Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to start an exercise routine.  Did Eridan work out?  If so the two of you could go together, he certainly knows what’s best, considering.  You wander down the street, thoughts of how you could get Eridan to exercise with you puttering through your head.  You could work out alone, but that was so fucking boring you’d rather die.  You heave a sigh, kicking a stray piece of gravel on the sidewalk to go skittering into the street.  You could always join an exercise class, but those were pretty pricy.  Maybe Eridan would spot you the money?  Whatever, it didn’t even matter right now.  You could talk about it with him later.

 

 

 

The following walk to the café was uneventful.  The streets were mildly busy, and traffic mounted as lunch hour approached.  In fact, it was at its peak when you reached Mr. Frothy’s Mug Of Joe, and pushed your way into the relatively busy coffee shop.

 

You take a moment to look around, absorbing both the crowd and the changes from the last time you were here.  They had gotten new décor, and had an entirely new seating area to the side of the café.  You wander up to the counter, pulling your wallet out and thumbing through a few bills as you add up the total in your head.

 

“Yeah, I want a hot vanilla mocha with two added shots, and…  a plain bagel with cream cheese,” you say, mechanically.  The barista nods and goes off to get your order started, before returning to take your money – six dollars and thirty-two cents, as you expected – and you move to wait for your drink and bagel.

 

The other customers were rushed, business people without too much time to waste.  They ushered to and fro, not even looking each other in the eye as they went about their business.  You had seen this behavior before, of course.  Most people exhibited it at one point or another.  The few exceptions to this behavior were immediately obvious: a young woman sitting in the designated, plush seating area and sipping what looked like some sort of strawberry drink; an older gentleman and his wife obviously enjoying their coffee and sandwiches, and from the age of their rings they had been married for quite a while and you suspected it was a part of their routine; and a mother and daughter, the daughter drinking juice and coloring while the mother drank some fashion of latte and read the classifieds.

 

“Sollux!” called the barista, pushing your order over to you with a kind smile.  You returned it, your crooked smile perhaps putting her off a bit, or maybe she just needed to return to work quickly.  Either way, you took your coffee and allowed yourself a long sip before taking your bagel and sitting at one of the free tables.  One nice thing about this café was that they weren’t stingy with the amount of cream cheese they gave you.  And as such, you proceeded to smother your boiled bread snack with copious amounts of cream cheese before taking a bite.

 

You continued to people watch as you ate, watching the assorted types flitter in and out of the café.  Every one seemed to have something to do, somewhere to be.  A few of them were rude, quite a few, even.  But some were nice, patient, kind, apologetic.  These people were much rarer.  One girl gave the stressed, near tears barista a ten dollar tip.  You couldn’t help but smile a bit, because you had been there.  You had been the stressed customer service employee, the overlooked public servant.

 

Eventually, though, the rush died down.  There were still a few people scattered around, and your coffee had cooled to tepid.  You toss away the empty bag your bagel came in, and made your way to the door, only to quite literally run into the woman you had noticed before.

 

She was much smaller than you, and squeaked in her haste to not spill her drink – which, at this distance, you could tell was one of those frozen blended doohickeys you were fond of in hot weather – and clutched it to her chest.  She was all soft angles and big green eyes, with enough curves to give you pause.  Yes, she was…  attractive, and cute, and countless other nice words.  So sue you, that was your first thought.

 

“I’m sorry!” she hurried out, looking up at you with those big eyes.  Her voice was high, but not shrill.  She was quieter than you’d expect, reserved, used to being talked over with a voice like that.  So you gave her a smile, reassuring, and shook your head.

 

“No it’s fine, seriously.  Are you alright?  Didn’t spill any on you, did you?” you ask, looking her over as you spoke.  She didn’t seem to have, and she shook her head to confirm your suspicions.

 

“No, I’m fine, thanks!  And you’re…?”

 

“Fine.”

 

“No, silly, I meant your name!” she said with a soft laugh, smiling up at you.  Wait, she wanted to know your name?  You backpedal slightly, confused as to why she would.  But she was looking at you expectantly, she wanted your name, and you did remember your name, didn’t you?  It was written on your damn coffee cup if you didn’t.

 

“Oh, uh, right.  Sollux.”  Your voice came out quickly, mumbled, trying to recover from the slight faux pas.  Just a slight one, though, you had worse.

 

“And what’s your name?”

 

“Nepeta,” she answered, shifting her coffee to one hand so she could extend the other toward you.  You accepted it, feeling the chill on her skin that was left from the frozen drink.

 

“Nepeta,” you repeat, letting the word sear into your memory.  It was an unusual name, but seemed to fit her.  She was pale, her hair such a soft and pretty blonde, and of course short curvy.  She was, well.  Cute, as you mentioned.  Fuck, Sollux, were you going to be repeating yourself now?

 

“Yeah, Nepeta Leijon,” she went on, and that gave you an epiphany.

 

“Swedish, right?” you ask, preparing to feel like an ass if you were wrong.

 

“Yeah!” she chirped, face cracking into a bright smile.  Oh, good, you weren’t wrong.  You couldn’t help but smile back at her, the look infectious.

 

“Uh, hey, I’m going back to work now, but—“

 

“Oh, yeah, sorry…”

 

“Well I was gonna say, you can come with me if you want,” she went on, looking anywhere but at you, “if you like animals, I mean.”

 

“Of course I like animals, who doesn’t?” you answer immediately.  I mean sure you liked animals fine, but in that moment you felt like you were so all about puppies and kitties and shit.  She gave you another smile, though, and that was worth it.

 

“And then maybe after I leave I could get your number?” you throw out, all your muscles working tense.  She just smiled more, eyes closing.

 

“We’ll see if you’re a good boy!”

 

 

 

You must have lost track of time around the second drink with Nepeta after work.

 

Neither of you got drunk, but you walked her home and kissed her cheek and promised to see her again soon.  You confirmed that your numbers were right, gave her another kiss on the cheek, and then gave her a tight hug before heading home.

 

When you did get home, it was a little past nine and Eridan was there, sitting on the couch and munching on his left over ice cream.  He fixed you with a look when you walked in.

 

“I was wonderin’ when you’d get here,” he mumbled, setting his spoon down.  “Where the fuck did you go?”

 

“Out,” you answer evasively, going to get your own ice cream.  “Went to Mr. Frothy’s.  Met a girl.  Hung out with her.  Any further questions, Your Honor?”  You were met with silence from the living room, which was good enough for you.  You grab a spoon and start shoveling the frozen deliciousness into your mouth, heading back into the living room to see Eridan had gone back to just staring at the television and eating.  You sat down a fair distance away, glancing at the war documentary he had taken an interest in, and sighed.

 

“What’s she like?” he asked after a long stretch of silence.  You shrug off the question at first, gathering your thoughts.

 

“She’s fucking cute, first off, in more ways than one.  It’s fucking shocking that she took an extended interest in me.”

 

Eridan shrugged a bit and bit down on his spoon before continuing, “and what’s her name?”

 

“Nepeta.”

 

“Fuckin’ weird name.”

 

“I know, but she’s…  she’s great.  You’d like her,” you say distantly, and you’re not sure why.  Eridan would probably hate her.

 

“Whatever you say, Sol.  She big on the club scene or sommat?”

 

“Er, not exactly.  She doesn’t like clubs, she said she had a bad experience with one when she was younger,” you answer, frowning to yourself as you spoke.  Why did you know that?  You completely forgot what train of conversation lead to learning that little fact.  Not that it mattered, you knew it now.  Eridan fell quiet after that, though, and you put up with the silence for a few minutes more before capping your ice cream and replacing it in the freezer.

 

“I’m gonna dick around on the computer some and then get to bed,” you say, walking back to your room and shutting the door behind you.  Nepeta gave you her email address too, and her AIM handle.  You add her to your contact list, only to find she was offline.  You were a bit more put off by that than you wanted to be, and decided to play Guild Wars until you dropped instead.

 

 

 

It was two AM when you finally reached the end of your stamina.  You said goodbye to your guild, signed off of the game, and went to shut down when you noticed an email in your inbox.  You checked, and it was from Nepeta.  You clicked it open.

 

Subject:  (no subject)

From:  catgirl33@aol.com

To:  22beesbuzzing@aol.com

hey paw-lux!  sorry i couldnt be on aim at all, but equius is here and we wanted to watch a mew-vie without interruptions.  whenever  you get this, goodnight!

 

You smiled a bit and sent an email back, just saying goodnight, and shut down your computer to climb into bed.  That was an interesting day, to be sure.  You think you may have gotten yourself a girlfriend.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh guess what it's Chapter Four. It's been like, forever, and work's been mad, but I'm not dead yet! I'll try to update more regularly (that sounds familiar), but for now I at least have this for you. It's shortish, but I hope you guys like it if only for the fact that it's ~~activity~~.

Another day, another night fueled by terrors.

It wasn’t even remotely uncommon these days for your night terrors to occur on a regular basis.  When you were younger they were a bit less common, but these days you seemed to be getting them every time you closed your eyes to sleep.  It was more irritating than anything, and lead to you missing a lot of sleep that you wouldn’t have a chance to get back.

They rarely make sense, but they’re always lucid.  The ones lately have always involved fire, burning alive or someone else burning alive, or something along those lines.  The pain is always so real, and you swear you can feel your blood boiling under your skin.

Tonight, however, it was different.

 

_“Well, Sol, I don’t know what to tell you.”_

_The weather was pleasant, though you can’t remember how you ended up here.    This didn’t look like anything in town, it was too bright and happy and the other people you passed almost looked like they enjoyed existing._

_“Huh?”_

_“Were you even listenin’?”_

_“Uh…  no.”_

_When in doubt, default to honest._

_Eridan heaves a long-suffering sigh, fingers sliding back through his hair.  And his hair shines in the light, and it looks so vividly_ soft _that you want to reach out and touch it._

_“I was sayin’ that if ya like this girl, you should go for it.”_

_Oh, right.  It all comes rushing back to you.  You had asked Eridan what to do about Nepeta and he had suggested the two of you take a walk.  Fresh air would clear your head, or something.  You couldn’t remember all the details, but that seemed appropriate._

_Eridan suddenly comes to a stop, and you feel obligated to stop with him and follow his gaze._

_Protestors.  With signs.  Outside the Planned Parenthood.  It wasn’t an uncommon thing to see, no, but something about the way Eridan’s shoulders go rigid and his face draws into a sour expression causes you to stiffen up a bit as well.  You never really asked Eridan about how he felt about certain things.  He was a porn star, so you rather assumed he was either liberal or ‘didn’t give a shit’.  But from his posture alone, it’s safe to assume he’s decidedly not okay with these protestors.  You’re about to speak up, but he’s already taking long, deliberate strides towards the building._

_The protestors are the usual fare – white, Christian, mothers encouraging their children and pushing them to grow into perfect little molded monsters.  They were currently harassing a young girl, no more than seventeen, trying to get into the building.  She’s holding her head down, obviously upset, trying to avoid conflict and get inside.  But the protestors swarm around her, screaming murderer and holding up pictures of ‘aborted fetuses’ that make you cringe.  You recognize one from a horror movie you saw once.  They spit off untrue ‘facts’ and the throng only seems to grow larger with the girl’s weak attempts to escape._

_Until Eridan steps in._

_“Leave her alone!” he snaps, his voice resonant and clear amidst the rabble.  It seems to work, if only for a little while, as the group turn their attentions onto him.  Eridan standing with his chest puffed out and eyes determined, fists clenched at his sides._

_“The sinners flock together!” comes the first cry._

_“Neither of them is beloved by god, and so they find solace in defending their own fiendish ways!”_

_“What.”  Eridan’s voice is deadpan, and though he’s confused you get what they’re driving at.  Eridan is…  flamboyant.  His hair is dyed and his clothes are feminine and form fitting and…_

_“ED, you’re gay.”_

_“Well yes, but I don’t see what this has to do with anythin’.”_

_But the mob is starting to close in on him and that annoying waver is back in his voice._

_But instead of being annoying, his nerves strike some fear into you.  Eridan doesn’t just get_ afraid _of people like this._

_“He sees no problem with his sinful ways.  You’d defend your choice, wouldn’t you?”_

_“W-well it’s not really a choice,” he snaps right back, though his voice is losing its edge of confidence, of combativeness._

_“The words of a lamb who doesn’t care to find his herd again.”_

_“God has no love for you, God hates you for your misdeeds.”_

_“W-wow, that sounds like a w-wrathful and immature god.  I’m sorta glad he’s not on my side.”_

_You knew that was the wrong thing to say before he did._

_The first blow was dealt by a sign, and the crack was oddly loud.  Right against the back of his head, and despite Eridan’s best efforts he’s floored by the blow.  After that, it’s a flurry of kicks and hits with blunt objects.  Signs, rocks, anything handy.  You try to run to him but you can’t move.  You’re paralyzed in place.  Or maybe they’re holding you, you can’t tell.  You can’t feel.  You can only watch as he tries so desperately to get up, to fight back.  But he’s outnumbered.  He’s outnumbered and eventually he stops trying to fight back, one hand reaching out for you as his eyes dim, as his blood smears the pavement and up into his once so beautifully soft hair._

The night terror doesn’t let you go until the last of the life had drained from Eridan’s eyes, and you wake up sick and cold all at once, tearing away from the bed and bolting to the bathroom to get sick.  You’re not sure what time it is yet, between the black-out curtains you had nailed to your wall and the windowless state of your bathroom, but the temperature of the house suggested that it was early yet.

You rinse and wipe your mouth, flushing the toilet with a grimace before turning to look at your sorry state in the mirror.  You looked tired without your coffee, and the lighting of your bathroom made you look gaunt and sickly on top of it all.  You splash your face with cool water, hoping it would wash away the fleeting memories of your dream and bring a bit of liveliness into your face.

Maybe a shower would help.

Coffee took priority, though, as it usually did.  You leave your room to discover the sun was actually up, much to your surprise.  And the smell of fresh brewed coffee lofted down the hall like a miraculous cloud.  You were ever grateful that Eridan tended to rise earlier than you, and that his love for coffee was just as great as your need for it.  Walking into the kitchen reveals the coffee pot bubbling, cream and sugar laid out for your convenience.  Eridan must have left them out after making his cup, dumbass that he is.  You take advantage of his oversight, though, and mix up a cup of coffee that is delightfully strong enough to raise a Snorlax.

You pause in the middle of your second sip to reflect on the nerdiness of that last thought.

By the time you’re done with your cup, you’re actually mildly surprised that you didn’t burn your mouth.  Only a few minutes had passed since you poured the coffee, and usually that’s not long enough for it to cool to a manageable level.  And yet, here you are, your mouth unburned and a nice warm sensation settled in your stomach.  Good enough for you.  Shower time.

You toss your cup in the sink and walk into the bathroom again, turning the water on mechanically.  It’s all routine at this point in your life, and you’ve lived here long enough to wait patiently for the water to heat up to anything over balls-killing-cold.  Once it’s hot, you step under the spray and immediately shove your head under the water.  The feeling of the spray massaging your scalp was nice, and you purred a little bit despite yourself.  This was just what the doctor ordered, and you could already feel some of the blood coming back to your face and the last shreds of last night’s dream falling down the drain with the grime of the day before.

Zero, one, one, two, three, five, eight, thirteen, twenty-one…

It occurred to you that you hadn’t seen Eridan, despite the evidence he was awake.  And he didn’t leave a note in his usual spot.  Did he just retreat back to his room?  It’s possible, though Eridan isn’t, by nature, the sort of shut-in that you are.  He prefers the open space of the living room, the ability to see you once you step into the hallway and recruit you into conversation.  Maybe he’s not feeling well?  It was cold out yesterday, after all, and he did have to go out.

Then again, he rarely ever gets sick.  Unlike you, and you feel fine.

Maybe he got a call and went to his room so he wouldn’t wake you?  That seemed uncharacteristically considerate of him, so you dismiss it.  Maybe he went back to bed?  You doubted that.  Your lips purse a bit as you lather your hair.

You’re sure he’s okay, but it would be a nice comfort to know where he went.

You rinse your hair out and realize you’re not sure why this is bothering you so much.  Perhaps it’s because, in the time you’ve known Eridan, his behavior has always been a pattern.  You live your life by patterns, and so his schedule and his lifestyle was always so relaxingly rhythmic.  Even his gait held a beat that always synched up so perfectly with your pulse.  Sometimes you feel like if he were to stumble, your heart would do so as well.  Perhaps it’s because you’re so used to seeing him first thing in the morning, or at least some sign of him.  Or perhaps it’s because you just enjoy his company.

Well, you do, but you wouldn’t consider that to be the reason for your confusion.

You shut off the shower and sigh.  You had stopped counting.

The bathroom is startlingly cold after getting out of the water, and a towel is your only saving grace to wick away the moisture and shield against the circulating bathroom air.  You wrap yourself up tight, hoping to find shelter in the fluffy terrycloth.  It doesn’t do as much as you’d hoped, and you quickly shuffle into your bedroom to get dressed.  You want something with sleeves today, and so the black and white striped turtleneck tee seems the perfect choice.  Sure, it makes you look sort of like a mime, but it’s a cherished keepsake from your older brother, who got it from his best friend who’s currently in a cult.

So it’s big on you, so what?

It’s the only thing you have left from how your brother used to be.

You wander back into the main living room to see that there’s still no real sign of Eriadn except for the presence of a second coffee cup sitting abandoned on the table.  You were sure you had tossed yours in the sink, and didn’t think too much of it as you went about preparing breakfast.  Only to find that, once again, you were out of milk.

You let out a growl of irritation and punch the fridge door.

“ED!”

You knew this song and dance.  Just like before, your spats over stupid shit tended to revolve around some sort of food.  You swore he goaded you into it, weaseled you into anger like this.  Maybe he knew it was best for you, maybe he just liked fucking with you.

Maybe you liked it too.

However, there was no reply and you were almost disappointed.  You wanted to scrap, you wanted to feel him throwing his weight around and shoving you, pulling you back and bullying you.  It was oddly comforting to have his body guiding your motions.

It was only then that you noticed a note that had not been there before you got in the shower, and you felt stupid for shouting his name to an empty house.

sol,

ran to get more milk.  ill be home soon.

eri

You toss the note away and go to get on your computer instead.

Asshole couldn’t even give you anything to be mad about.

 

Subject:  Good morning!

From:  [catgirl33@aol.com](mailto:catgirl33@aol.com)

To: [22beesbuzzing@aol.com2](mailto:22beesbuzzing@aol.com2)

Good morning Paw-lux!  I hope you slept okay!  Equius and I had a lot of fun on mew-vie night.  We should totally do it sometime, it’ll be a lot of fun!  Maybe we can go to the theatre and watch something there.  I’m working again today, but you can come visit me if you want.  Okay, bye!

 

Subject:  Job specifications

From:  [ahussie@saddleback.com](mailto:ahussie@saddleback.com)

To:  [22beesbuzzing@aol.com](mailto:22beesbuzzing@aol.com)

Hello Sollux, hope you’ve been doing well.

This is just an email to fill you in on some of the specifics of your job this Thursday.  You’ll be working with Rose Lalonde in a fem-dom piece.  There won’t be pegging, but you’ll be expected to do oral and otherwise be obedient.  You’ll be allowed a safe-word during filming which will stop the cameras, but there’s not going to be anything too drastic since this is your first piece of this nature and your first recorded piece.  Pairing you with Rose should help get you some more exposure, seeing as she’s a somewhat more popular actress.  Come in at 2:00 PM on Thursday so you can meet her before shooting, and we’ll have a luncheon set up for the actors working that day.

See you then,

AH

 

Subject:  (no subject)

From:  mitunacaptor@lnh.org

To:  [22beesbuzzing@aol.com](mailto:22beesbuzzing@aol.com)

Hi so lcux@!  We haven’t talked in a wane!  *while

I miss u!  you  shdoudl come vist me im lonely ))):

Im sory for bugging g yuou iil l go now!

Love u!!

Mituanna

 

And that’s in.  That’s all the emails of importance that aren’t spam and stupid shit.  You sigh and look them over, stashing the date for Saddleback in your mental datebook before looking at the two remaining emails.

 

You reply to Nepeta first.

 

_Hey Nep.  Yeah, it sounds like it was a lot of fun.  My roomie and I had a movie night, too.  I hope you have a good day at work.  I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop in today, but I’ll try.  If not, I’ll talk to you when you get home._

Short, sweet, and to the point.  Don’t want to come off too strong, after all.

Mituna…

_Hey Tunaboy.  It has been a long time, hasn’t it?  I’m not working any more, so I should be able to visit you soon.  I miss you a lot.  I promise I’ll bring you something when I come to visit, okay?_

Non-commital.

You feel bad.

 

 

By the time Eridan gets home, you had resigned yourself to a milk-less breakfast and made cinnamon toast instead.  You’re munching away and watching cartoons when he walks in, barely giving him an acknowledgement as he stashes the new gallon of milk and sits beside you.  You watch the cartoons in silence for a few moments more before his sigh pulls you out of your animation-induced trance.

“What?”

“Why do you watch these things?  They’re stupid.”

Good.

“Duh they’re stupid, that’s why I watch them.  Better than fucking war movies and shit.  You glorify all that killing –“

“Glorify it?  It was for the good of the human race!  It’s something glorious on its own, Sol!”

Good.

“America’s always getting involved in other countries’ civil wars and it only leads to more death and destruction.  We need to keep our noses out of other peoples’ business and maybe we won’t waste so much money trying to fix their damn messes.”

“That’s all you care about is the money?  Not about the freedom of impoverished people?”

“It’s their way of life, we shouldn’t chastise them for it!”

“Oh, so we shouldn’t ‘chastise’ the Nazis either then, since killing millions of innocent jews, gays, and handicapped is just their ‘way of life’?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!”

“It sure _sounds_ similar ta what you said, Sol.”

You toss your plate aside and launch across the couch, tackling the much bigger man off of it and to the floor.  It’s all hands, in your hair and against his chest,  Pulling, pushing, nails scratching against what exposed flesh you can find.  He’s stronger than you.  He forces you.  He growls for your submission and you fight harder for it.  He insults your dad.  You insult his hair.  He has more ammo than you do.

He has you on your back.  You still fight, scuffed and scratched and bruised as you are.  You still fight to try to regain the upper hand, though he’s holding you down by your throat and you can feel the gentle pressure against your trachea.  You strain, your airway tightens, and you fall back against the floor.

He won, as always.

You glare menacingly up at him from your position.  You’re panting harder than he is.  He stands up and glares down at you, but he won the fight.  He offers you a hand up and you accept it.

You’re not fighting any more.

You both take your positions on the couch again, and instead of cartoons Eridan changes it to Discovery channel.  Blue Planet or some shit, something about the oceans.  You sigh and settle in, because it’s not as dull as war documentaries so you can’t complain too much.  You pull out your phone to waste time instead.

 

Catlover33 is online!

Cool.

22beesbuzzing:  hey nep.  
catlover33:  Hi Paw-lux!  I’m glad I caught you.  
22beesbuzzing:  heh yeah.  sup?  still at work?  
catlover33:  Yeah, but it’s super slow.  *pouts*  I’m bored!  
22beesbuzzing:  heh sorry i cant be there.  
catlover33:  It’s okay.  Hey, um, I had a question.  
22beesbuzzing:  sup?  
catlover33:  Um, are you free tomorrow night?  
22beesbuzzing:  uh.  
catlover33:  *blushes a bunch*  I mean if you’re not it’s okay!  I just was wondering if you’d like to see a movie, like I said, or go to dinner or something.  
22beesbuzzing:  uh.  that should be okay.  
catlover33:  Really?!  OMG awesome!  Can you meet me at my place at like, 7?  
22beesbuzzing:  yeah i can do that.  
catlover33:  <33!  I can’t wait!  See you then!

She logged off before you could get another word in.

Well, at least you had a date for tomorrow.  You look up, with the idea of telling Eridan, but something stops you.  Maybe it’s how he reacted last night, but some part of you feels guilty for telling him.  You chalk it up to the fact that you have a girlfriend and he’s got nobody, and that you brought up his ex recently, and just close your mouth and look back at the television.

You can always tell him later, if anything comes of it.


End file.
